VOODOO! VOODOO!
Evidently there was an understanding between these two strange
creatures, and thereby an occult connection with the ideas and doings
of Dr. Etwald. What the trio were plotting against Isabella and her
lover remains to be seen; but it can be guessed easily that the
message of the devil-stick carried by Battersea to Dido was of some
significance.
Battersea himself knew nothing of its esoteric meaning, but to the
negress the mention of the emblem conveyed a distinct understanding.
She let her arms fall listlessly by her side, and, with an unseeing
gaze, she stared at the green trees bathed in hot sunshine. After a
moment or so she muttered to herself in negro jargon and clenched her
hands.
"Baal! the wand of sleep! the bringer of death!"
"What are you saying, Dido?" asked Battersea, his feeble intellect
scared by the fierce gestures and the unknown tongue.
"I say deep things which you no understan'. Look at ole Dido, you
white man."
Battersea whimpered, and, rubbing one dirty hand over the other, did
as he was requested with manifest unwillingness. With an intensity of
gaze, Dido glared at him steadily, and swept her hands twice or thrice
across his face. In a moment or so the tramp was in a state of
catalepsy, and she made use of his spellbound intelligence to gain
knowledge. There was something terrible in her infernal powers being
thus exercised in the full sunlight, in the incongruous setting of a
homely English landscape.
"De debble-stick! Whar is it?"
"In the house of Major Jen. In a little room, on the wall, with swords
and axes."
As he said this in a monotonous tone, Dido looked across the tree-tops
to where the red roofs of "Ashantee" showed themselves against a blue
July sky. She shook her fist at the distant house, and again addressed
herself imperiously to Battersea, commanding:
"Tell ole Dido ob de debble-stick."
"It is green, with a handle of gold, and blue stones set into the
gold."
Dido bent forward and touched the tramp on his temples.
"See widin dat stick," she muttered, eagerly. "I wish to see."
"There is a bag in the handle," repeated Battersea, with an effort.
"Under the bag a long needle;" then after a pause, "the needle is
hollow."
"Is dere poison in de bag, white man?"
"No, the poison is dried up."
"Is dere poison in de hollow ob de needle?"
"No," said Battersea again. "The poison is dried up."
At this moment a noise in the house disturbed Dido, and with a pass or
two she released Battersea from the hypnotic spell. He started, rubbed
his eyes, and looked drowsily at the tall negress, who had resumed her
impassive attitude.
"What have you been doing. Dido?" he asked, stupidly.
"Obi!" was the brief reply. "You hab told ole Dido what she wish about
de debble-stick."
"The devil-stick," repeated the tramp, in wide-eyed surprise. "S'elp
me, I don't know anything of it. Dr. Etwald met me, and ses he: 'You
go to Miss Dallas?' and I ses, 'I does;' and he ses, 'You'll see
Dido,' and I ses, 'I will;' and he ses, 'Say to her "Devil-stick,"'
an' I ses, 'Right y'are, sir.' But es to knowing--"
"Dat nuffin!" said Dido, with a lordly wave of her hand. "I black; you
hab de black blood in youse also. I mek you do Obi. Um!"
"What's Obi? What's you torkin of?" asked Battersea, rather nervously.
"An' ow does yeou know I hev black blood?"
"Obi say dat to me. Your mudder black."
"Yah!" cried Battersea, derisively. "You're out of it. My mother
white; but my father--" here he hesitated, and then resumed: "Yes,
you're right. Dido; my father was a negro! A Seedee boy, who was a
fireman on a P. and O. liner."
"I hab seen dat," replied Dido, nodding her head. "Black blood in
youse, an' I can do Obi on you. I send your spirit to de house of
Massa Jen. You tell me ob de debble-stick."
Battersea drew back and began to whimper again.
"I knows es you wor at that devilry," he said, nervously. "When you
claps your eyes on me I gets afeard."
"Dat's so. But I take care ob you. Now get to de kitchen; dere am food
for you."
The old man's eyes brightened in anticipation of a feast, and he
shuffled off round the corner as quickly as his age would allow him.
Dido looked after him for a moment, considering the message he had
brought from Dr. Etwald, and then began to think of the devil-stick.
She knew very well what it was, for her grandmother had been carried
off as a slave from the west coast of Africa, and knew all about
Ashantee sorcery and fetish rites. These she had repeated to her
granddaughter Dido, with the result that Dido, cherishing these
recollections, knew exactly how to use the wand of sleep. She had
spoken about it to Dr. Etwald, quite ignorant that Jen kept one as a
curiosity, and now Etwald had intimated through Battersea that he
wished her to do something in connection with the stick. What that
something might be Dido at the present moment could not guess.
She had exerted her magnetic and hypnotic influence over Battersea,
not that she wished for a detailed description of the wand, for
already she knew its appearance, but because it might happen that it
would be necessary to use the tramp for certain purposes connected
with the discovery of secrets. Dido exercised a strong influence over
this weak old creature, partially on account of his half negro blood
and partially because she had terrified his feeble brain by her dark
hints of Obi worship.
Battersea was supposed to be a Christian; but the barbaric fluid in
his veins inclined him to the terrible grotesqueness of African
witchcraft, and Dido and her words stirred some dim instinct in his
mind. The negress saw that accident had placed in her way a helpless
creature who might be of use in her necromantic business; therefore,
by hypnotizing him once or twice, she contrived to keep him within her
power. All of which fantasy would have been denied by the average
British newspaper reader, who can not imagine such things taking place
in what he calls euphoniously a Christian land. But this happened, for
all his denial.
Having dismissed Battersea, the negress turned to seek Isabella. She
was so devoted to her nursling that she could hardly bear to be away
from her, and since her infancy Isabella had scarcely been absent an
hour from her strange attendant. The girl had gone into the
drawing-room, where Mrs. Dallas was still sleeping; and there,
relieved for the moment from the prying eyes of the negress, she took
a letter out of her pocket. It was from Maurice, stating that he was
coming to see her that afternoon at three o'clock, as he had something
particular to say.
It was now close upon the hour, and Isabella was wondering how she
could get rid of Dido, whom she did not wish to be present at the
coming interview. The inborn jealousy of the woman, and her advocacy
of Dr. Etwald's suit, made her an unpleasant third at such a meeting.
Moreover, Maurice instinctively disliked this sullen creature, and was
never quite easy in her presence.
Finally, Isabella decided to slip round by the back of the house and
meet Maurice at the gate. Dido was occupied in questioning Battersea
about the devil-stick on the verandah. So, after a glance to assure
herself that the pair were in earnest conversation, Isabella put on a
straw hat and ran lightly away to see her lover. She passed out by a
side door, danced like a fairy across the intervening space of lawn,
and slipped laughingly into the narrow path which wound through the
wood to the avenue near the gates.
Just as she emerged into the open she heard a sharp click, and saw
Maurice approaching. He was dressed in his flannels, and looked
particularly handsome, she thought; the more so when she beheld his
face lighting up at her unexpected appearance. The magnetism of love
drew them irresistibly together, and in less time than it takes to
write, Isabella was lying on the broad breast of her lover and he was
fondly kissing her lips.
"My own dear love," he murmured, softly. "How good of you to meet me."
"I came down here to escape Dido," explained Isabella, slipping her
hand within his. "You don't like her to be with us."
"I don't like her in any case, my darling. She is like a black shadow
of evil always at your heels. I must get your mother to forbid her
trespassing upon our meetings."
"My dear Maurice, how can you possibly do that, when you refuse to
tell my mother of our engagement?"
"Oh, I had a reason for keeping our engagement secret, but it is no
longer necessary, and to-day--at this moment--I am going straight to
ask your mother to give me this dear hand in marriage. If she
consents, we will soon get rid of Dido."
"But my mother may not consent," said Isabella, a trifle nervously.
"Why not? I have a profession and a small property. We love one
another dearly, so I don't see what grounds she has for refusal."
"Dido!"
"Well, Dido can do nothing," said Maurice, in a jesting tone, "unless
you want her to forbid the banns."
"She may even be able to do that," replied Isabella, seriously. "My
mother is afraid of her, and is often influenced in her decisions by
Dido."
"What, the black witch? Bah! She is only a servant."
"She is something more than that in Barbadoes."
"Oh, you mean that Obi rubbish, my dearest," said Maurice, slipping
his arm round the slender waist of the girl. "It is on that very
account that I wish to tell your mother of our engagement, for I must
rescue you from the influence of that dark Jezebel. She is dangerous."
"I know she is; but she hates you."
"I don't care for her hate," replied Maurice, carelessly. "It is a
poor thing, and can not possibly harm me. But I mean to extricate you
from her toils, and I don't care how she attempts to prevent our
marriage. Surely Mrs. Dallas will not let herself be guided in so
important a business by the will and feelings of that black wench."
"My mother is weak where Dido is concerned," said Isabella, shaking
her head.
"And so are you, my dear," responded Maurice, kissing her. "Both of
you are weak and have yielded up your wills to that woman. But the
announcement of our engagement will give me some influence in the
house and do away with all that. It will be a fight between white and
black magic, and I, as a civilized wizard, intend to win."
"Why do you particularly wish to announce our engagement to-day?"
Maurice grew serious, and paused at the top of the drive, just out of
sight of the house, to reply to this question.
"My dear child," he said slowly, "I kept our engagement secret on
account of David. I have seen for a long time that he loves you, and
knowing his fiery temper, I did not wish to provoke a quarrel by
telling him that you had promised to be my wife. But last night the
truth was forced from me at dinner, and David declared that he
intended to ask you to marry him."
"But I don't love him. I love you!"
"I knew that, but he didn't. He knows now that we love one another,
but he is ignorant that we are engaged. When the fact is publicly
announced, he may give up his idea of marrying you, and so a quarrel
may be averted."
"Are you afraid of quarreling with him?"
"Yes. Not on my account, but it distresses our good major to see us at
variance. We nearly quarreled over you last night, though, upon my
word," added the young man half to himself, "I believe Etwald promoted
the row."
"Etwald!" repeated Isabella. "Dr. Etwald?"
"Yes; he is in love with you."
"I know he is," replied the girl, quietly. "But, of course, I could
never be his wife; the more so, as I fear him. But Dido wishes me to
marry him."
"Oh, hang Dido!" cried Maurice, vigorously. "I wish she would mind her
own business."
At this moment, as if summoned by his remark, Dido appeared round the
bend of the path. She looked straight before her, turning neither to
right nor left, and passed the pair like one in a sleeping fit. The
negress seemed to be under the influence of some strange excitement,
and ran stumbling down to the gate.
"Voodoo! Voodoo!" she cried, hoarsely.
"Oh," said Isabella, nervously, "Dr. Etwald must be at hand. When Dido
says 'Voodoo' he comes."